Chapter Text
There had been a man with a gun, pointed right at Thomas and at his wife, and at his son. Muggers were a common occurrence in Gotham. Thomas had been mugged going on a hundred times in his life. It had been like that his entire life. As a young man he’d broken away from his nannies and gone into the city. Gotham was old. It had always been a little violent, from the very moment Amity Arkham was executed from witchcraft. (Or, as he suggested to Kate and Bruce when he told the pair scary stories, when the Arkham’s youngest sister was murdered.) The point was that violence and despair was as vital to the foundations of Gotham city as the bones of the dead, who just seemed to pile up more and more every year.
Thomas had always been a dreamer and a wild child. His trips into the city made him burn with a need for justice that wouldn’t go out no matter how old he got. He’d seen too many things, been rescued by too many people. Then he became a doctor and did his internships and residency in some of the poorest hospitals in the city. Thomas burned for it, burned with the injustice, burned with the need to do something.
Martha burned too, burned with a desire to do more, to fix something, to make a safe city for families just like their own, without the resources that they had. That was part of why they’d come to that particular theatre. Park Row wasn’t the nicest place in Gotham, but they were revitalizing and of course the Waynes would be at the grand reopening of the Monarch Theatre. And that was also why, when Bruce got scared, Thomas had insisted they go out the back. Thomas didn’t want the press to get the idea that there was something wrong with the theatre, or be forced to embarrass his son by admitting to the press that Bruce had been scared.
That was the downsides of wealth: there was a responsibility, and there was a following. Thomas and Martha Wayne were fighting an uphill battle against systematic corruption, the mob and rampant crime. Their best weapon was their visibility. Unfortunately, that meant splashing their faces all over the news. That meant that Bruce was the most recognizable child in the city. In Gotham, Bruce was more famous than the Savage brothers, Drew Barrymore and that cute Neil Patrick Harris kid that played that doctor on that show Martha and Bruce liked to watch. And because Bruce was so famous, the press just loved spitting out even the tiniest bit of information about the boy they could find and splashing it across newsprint.
So yes, Thomas didn’t want the press to see them leaving early. He wanted to take his scared son home, have Alfred make them all hot chocolate and hold Bruce in his arms while they watched Gray Ghost reruns. He’d even let Martha put in a taped episode of that child doctor show (that Thomas steadfastly refused to the learn the name of), so long as it would make Bruce smile and hopefully not have nightmares.
Then the mugger shot Thomas, and then he shot again and Thomas had no idea who that one was aimed for. In Thomas’s mind he thought: “my father always said sentimentality would get me killed. Looks like he was right.”
He could hear screaming, crying, pleading. He thought it might be Bruce, but it could be Martha. He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He-
He opened his eyes, his nose full of the scent of one of the rankest alleyways he’d ever had the displeasure of being in, let alone laying down in. He shot right up, grabbing the spot where there should be a bullet wound. But no. No wound. No blood. No bullet. There was a hole in his shirt, that was easily hidden by his jacket and coat.
“Bruce,” he heard Martha whisper.
Thomas whipped around. Martha was sitting up, turning her head back and forth.
Her pearl necklace was gone.
Bruce had given Martha that necklace for her birthday. He hadn’t known what made cheap or expensive pearls. Nice pearls had knots between each pearl. Bruce had picked a cheap one, with the pearls not tied off.
Thomas had heard the pearls bouncing against the ground, in the damp streets.
The pavement was dry.
“Bruce!” Martha called. She started to push herself up, but Thomas scrambled up first, then helped her up.
“What happened?” Thomas asked.
“The mugger. He shot you. He shot- where’s Bruce?”
The pair of them started to look around, hoping maybe Bruce was hiding behind the trashcan or something.
It became clear very quickly that the alleyway they’d been in only minutes before wasn’t the same one they were currently in.
The form was the same. The door was the same. There were even still posters housed in little frames on the walls. One of them, extremely faded and water damaged, declared that “Mefistofele” was playing. The alley was filled with trash. It was dark and smelled vile.
And Bruce was nowhere to be seen.
“Hood! Here! They’re here!” declared a young voice.
Thomas spun to face the mouth of an alleyway, where a black boy, about Bruce’s age, stood, holding the hand of… someone.
“It’s the Waynes! See it’s the Waynes.”
“Mother fucker,” came a distorted voice of the person who was holding the boy’s hand. He was tall, maybe even taller than Thomas, with broad shoulders. He was wearing a red helmet that covered his entire face, like a movie villain. He was in tactical gear, with a weird red symbol (that reminded Thomas of a bat) splashed across his chest. There was also a plethora of weapons strapped to his person.
“I told you,” the boy said proudly, hanging off the man. “I told you they were there, Hood. You owe me.”
“Yeah, yeah, kid,” Hood said. He shook off the kid and pulled something off his belt (was that a candy bar?) and handed it to the kid. “Go home, Jacob. I’ve got it here. Tell Apricot to spread the news to keep your heads down tonight.”
“Only if you pay me,” the kid said. Yep, that was a Gotham kid.
The stranger had been faced right toward Thomas and Martha, holding them under his gaze (or what appeared to be his gaze), but at the boy’s words he let out a long sigh. He dug for something on his belt, which turned out to be a few bills.
“Keep it the Alley until this time tomorrow, Jacob, or I swear there will be hell to pay.”
“Uh-huh,” the kid, said, entirely unbothered as he zoomed off.
“Kids, am I right?” Hood asked.
“Is he yours?” Martha said. Martha had always been braver than Thomas. She was also better at getting her composer back. She stood at his side, looking perfectly calm, her chin raised, seeming exactly like herself.
“Huh,” Hood said.
“What?” Martha asked.
“Nothing. And no, Jacob’s not my kid. He’s an Alley kid, though, so he’s under my protection.” There was a protective snarl in those words, a warning that actually eased Thomas’s nerves. Anyone who would fight that hard for a child was someone Thomas could work with.
“Our son,” Thomas said. “He’s missing.”
“Yeah, no he isn’t,” Hood said. Thomas stiffened. Hood sounded so dismissive.
“What does that mean?” Thomas demanded.
“He’s with Alfred,” Hood said.
Those three words brought Thomas up short. He exchanged a look with his wife. Alfred wasn’t an entire unknown in Gotham. He was known as a very good butler in Bristol, but here in Park Row? People didn’t know Alfred down here.
“You know Alfred?” Martha asked.
“Alfred Pennyworth. Best cook in the country, Wayne family Butler. Yeah, you can say I know him.”
Martha let out a relieved sigh. Thomas mirrored the sentiment. If Bruce was with Alfred, then he was safe.
“We need to call him.”
“Yeah… tell you what, follow me back to my place and I’ll call him and have him pick you up.”
“What should be call you?” Martha asked.
“Out here, Red Hood,” Hood said. “Just follow me. My place is close.”
Thomas looked at Martha raising his eyebrows like ‘are you sure?’. Martha nodded.
That was how they ended up following around a man wear a red helmet and a bat symbol up a fire escape only two blocks away. Hood gave Martha a piggyback while Thomas held her shoes so her heels wouldn’t go through the grating. Thomas already knew Red Hood was strong, but the way he effortlessly carried a whole adult person gave Thomas a glimpse of exactly how strong the man was.
As Hood delicately lowered Martha onto his apartment floor, it occurred to Thomas that Hood could basically do anything to them, and they couldn’t stop him. Then he turned and offered Thomas a hand in with the same care he’d given Thomas’s wife. Thomas accepted the hand in, and quickly joined his wife, who was leaning against a rather ratty couch.
Hood slid the window closed, locked it, and shut the curtains.
“Can you call Alfred, please,” Martha said.
“Already did,” Hood said.
“No, you didn’t,” Thomas said, his temper rising, as well as his fear. Martha was a good judge of character, and Thomas trusted her. But that didn’t mean that he felt safe or comfortable trusting and following a man that heavily armed.
“I did,” Hood said. He laid his hands on the side of his helmet. There was a little hiss and Thomas could see something in the helmet shift. A second later, the man- a young man, pulled the helmet off. He had a small black mask over his eyes underneath, but they got a good look at a fairly young, fresh face with black hair and a bit of poliosis. He turned the helmet upside down and pressed something inside until they could hear a voice talking.
“Agent A, say hello.”
“Mister and Mrs. Wayne.” And there was Alfred’s voice. “I’m on my way to your location as quickly as I can. I trust Red Hood with my life. I’ll make a proper introduction once I arrive.”
“It’s alright Alfred,” Martha said. “Is Bruce with you?”
“You’ll see him back at the Manor,” Alfred said. Thomas noticed that Alfred didn’t say that Bruce was with him, which made his stomach tie in knots. Alfred had a history of military service, though. Clearly, he hadn’t cut ties entirely, since he spoke for Red Hood. Which meant that Bruce might be in danger, but if Alfred was assuring them that they’d see Bruce again, then that meant that whoever Alfred sent after him was someone Alfred would trust, perhaps even more than this Red Hood.
“We’ll see you when you get here, old friend. Try not to get pulled over.”
Hood snorted. “Yeah, you don’t need to worry about that.” God, without the mask he sounded so, so young.
“I’ll be there soon. Red Hood will take care of you until then.”
“Got it, A,” Hood said. He pressed something inside his helmet, ending the call. “So yeah, I did call Alfie.”
“You’re familiar with him, then,” Marth said.
“You can say that.”
“Hood, ETA five minutes,” a female voice said from the helmet.
“Got it, O. Signing off.” Hood pressed something else in his helmet before putting it down. “Well, you heard the woman. Let me check you for injuries. I don’t want Alfie to skin me later.”
Thomas chuckled. “Yes, no, we don’t want that. Martha, how are you feeling?”
“Better than I probably should be,” she said. She pulled his coat and jacket aside and stuck her finger right in the hole that a bullet should have gone through. “You were shot. I know you were.”
“Did Bruce…” Thomas asked.
Martha shook her head.
“I did,” she said.
“So, Bruce-” he started.
“Try not to worry about Bruce right now,” Hood said. Thomas found the young man dropping to his knees and starting to examine the wounds. “Great. I love multiverse shit.”
“What was that?” Thomas asked.
“Alfred will explain. I’m not getting in trouble with Daddy Bats about this,” Hood grumbled.
“Like the symbol on your chest?” Martha asked.
“Yeah, just like that,” Hood said, sitting back on his heels.
“Is the Bat like a new ring of organized crime?” Thomas asked.
Hood let out a loud snort and guffawed. He didn’t even bother to hide it, but he did fall back on his butt on the floor as he laughed.
“Oh god, please, please let me be there when you say that to him.”
“It’s a reasonable question,” Thomas protested, feeling his face heat up.
Hood was still chuckling. He sat back, looking even younger when he grinned. “Yeah, well, Red Hood’s the only crime lord in the whole Batfamily. So far. I’ve got bets on Replacement and Demon Brat.”
“Who are they?” Martha asked, her voice full of that disarming kindness that often got her exactly what she wanted.
“Younger brothers,” Hood said. “You’ll probably meet them at some point.”
“What-” did that mean exactly? But Thomas didn’t get to finish that sentence before there was a heavy, familiar knock at the door.
Hood scrambled up, running to the door and throwing it open.
Standing in the door was one Alfred Pennyworth, dressed very similar to an outfit he’d worn only the previous week, and looking decades older than the last time Thomas and Martha had seen them. He strode into the room, past Hood, who shut the door behind him.
“Alfred,” Martha said. “You’ve gotten old.”
“And you’ve stayed the same,” Alfred said with a sad smile. He pulled something from his pocket. “Hands out, please. I need to take a blood sample.”
“What for?” Thomas asked, holding out his hand anyway. Martha did the same.
“To prove you are who you say you are,” Alfred said. He pricked Thomas’s index finger, getting a drop of blood that he put on a test strip and into a little machine. He did the same thing to Martha while Thomas watched.
Hood came back to them with Band-aids, which he spread on their fingers. They were bright colored, in blue, yellow and red with odd symbols on them.
“Really, Master Jason?” Alfred asked with a fond smile.
“Hey, some people shoot people to cope. I go buy Wonder Woman Band-aids,” Hood said, sounding like a whiny teenager. “So?”
“The preliminary tests say it’s them,” Alfred said.
“Shit,” Hood (Jason) said.
“Language,” Alfred said.
“Right, sorry,” Jason said. “A couple of kids saw them just appear. I asked for twenty hours, but let’s hope we get ‘til sunrise.”
“I’ll inform Oracle,” Alfred said.
“No, I got that. I’m going to head back out. I know things were getting hairy. I can’t stay in, especially if you’re going to be off comms.”
“You’ll come home tonight, then?” Alfred asked.
“Gee, I don’t know,” Hood said, fiddling with his helmet. Despite being such an imposing figure, he looked very much like a little boy in that moment.
“You’ll come.” That was not a tone to be argued with.
“I’ll be there,” Hood said, before putting his helmet on. “Okay, you two. I’m turning you over into Alfred’s capable hands. I’ll see you two later.” With that, Hood headed back out the window they’d all come in from.
That left the three of them, the older Waynes and the far too old Alfred, alone in Hood’s apartment.
“Alfred, what’s going on?” Martha didn’t sound amused. They’d both remained quiet during the exchange, but neither of them was waiting any longer.
“You’ve be gone a lot longer than you think you have,” Alfred said, his words both blunt and cryptic.
“How long?” Thomas demanded.
“For the safety of Master Bruce, I can’t answer that yet, not until I’ve run more tests.”
“Alfred-” Thomas started.
“We understand,” Martha cut in. Thomas looked at her and she looked back. After a momentary battle of the wills, Thomas looked away. Martha won, like always. “Just please don’t wait long.”
“I won’t,” Alfred said. “Follow me.”
The walk down to the car Alfred brought, which was black and looked very little like any car Thomas knew. It was almost silent as it glided through the streets, as were its occupants. Thomas assumed they’d head to a lab, or Gotham General, or even the Manor. Instead, Alfred drove them down into a parking garage in Midtown, which then lead through a secret passage and through a long, long tunnel.
What little they’d gotten to see of Gotham wasn’t encouraging. There were still homeless, and the crime hadn’t seemed to change, but the cars, buildings and clothes just looked… different. Not hundreds of years different, but too different from late 80s fashion.
The tunnel, lit with yellow light, seemed to go on forever. Thomas and Martha gripped hands in the back as they waited an indeterminate amount of time before finally the care emerged into… well-
Alfred parked and got out. The Waynes exchanged a glance and then scrambled out. They followed him up across a metal floor. They were in a cave, not just any cave, but the cave system that Thomas has gone spelunking through in his youth, whose new construction had been designed to look like something out of a Bond film. Did Alfred work for a super villain?
Was Alfred a super villain?
“Are you still a spy, Alfred?” Martha asked.
“No, Mrs. Wayne,” Alfred said. He guided them into what was clearly a medical bay, one so beautifully outfitted that Thomas nearly started salivating.
There was very little talking as they pulled off their coats and Alfred drew a few vials of blood from each of them. He left them alone in medical, taking the vials with him. At which point, Thomas just had to get up and look around.
“Can’t help yourself, can you?” Martha asked.
“This place is amazing,” Thomas said. He started looking through drawers and cabinets. There was a very impressive pharmacy, as well as very well stocked supplies. Funnily enough, Thomas started to notice a pattern.
There were odd words written on things. Every word repeated at least one, and he even found all of the words on a checklist that Thomas realized was a health check list.
“Found something?” Marth asked.
“Does this make any sense to you?” Thomas asked. “Agent A, Batman, Batwing, Batwoman, Bluebird, Huntress, Nightwing, Oracle, Orphan, Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin, Signal, Spoiler?”
“Agent A is what Hood called Alfred,” Martha pointed out. “And Red Hood is on the list, so maybe it’s Alfred’s agents?”
“That makes so much sense,” Thomas said with a weak smile. He set the checklist down. “I found cabinets with specific supplies and medication for each codename.”
“It’s so organized,” Martha said with a fond smile.
“So organized!” Thomas gushed, his voice coming out like a chirp.
“Mister Wayne, Mrs. Wayne,” Alfred said, sticking his head back in the room. “You can both come out, if you’d like.”
“The tests finished?” Martha asked.
“They did,” Alfred said.
Martha hopped off the bed and walked over to Alfred, followed quickly by Thomas.
Alfred guided them into the cave base proper. That was how the Waynes got to see things they’d somehow missed before: the dinosaur, the giant playing card, the giant penny, and the giant set of monitors, which showed moving images so clearly that it looked like something out of Star Trek.
“You said you’d explain, Alfred,” Martha said.
“I did,” Alfred said. He pushed a couple buttons on the keyboard and a couple of different charts popped up. “Your samples matched 100% with the samples of Thomas and Martha Wayne which we have in our system. That, combined with witness testimonies of a couple simply appearing in the alleyway outside of the Monarch Theatre-”
That really was the Monarch? But why had it looked so tattered?
“And readings of temporal anomalies in the area,” Alfred continued. He turned to look at them. “Mean that I can safely conclude that you are Thomas and Martha Wayne. Tell me, what’s the last thing you remember?”
“Being shot,” both Thomas and Martha said at the same time. They exchanged looks before looking back at Alfred.
Alfred looked sad but nodded. “I regret to inform you that both of you died from those gunshots.”
“We… yes, we did,” Thomas said. At least he did. He knew the signs. He knew where he was hit. He knew he should be dead.
“So then where… are we?” Martha bit out.
“Over 35 years in the future,” Alfred said.
“So… Bruce?” Martha asked weakly. Thomas could hear a rushing in his ears.
“Older than you were when you passed,” Alfred said. “With children of his own, one of whom you met this evening.”
“You called him Master Jason,” Thomas said. His voice sounded weak in his own ears. “How-”
Whatever he meant to ask was cut off by furious beeping, following by a gruff, frantic voice.
“Agent A I’m on route! Nightwing’s been shot!”
“I’m here, Batman. I’ll have medical ready.”
“Call Leslie-”
“She’s in Australia,” Alfred said.
Batman sucked in a breath. “It’s bad, Alfred. I can’t-”
“Bring him here,” Alfred ordered, his voice very calm. “There is a surgeon here already who I trust with my life and yours.”
There was silence for a moment. “A-” Batman’s voice sounded broken.
“Bring Nightwing here,” Alfred said. “Is anyone else injured?”
“Robin’s arm was broken,” Batman said. “Red Robin’s with him, but Red may have a concussion. I have Hood en route to get them. Spoiler and Orphan are handling clean up.”
“Alright. Everyone gets home tonight.”
“Everyone gets home,” Batman repeated. “I’ll be there in two.”
The transmission cut off. Alfred turned to look at them with serious eyes.
“I have no time to explain, except that Thomas, I’m going to need you.”
“Of course,” Thomas said. “I’ll start scrubbing in.”
“Do that,” Alfred said. “Let me be blunt, Batman and the others are costumed heroes that fight crime and protect this city and the world. This world has changed greatly since who both died. Medicine has outstripped where you were in the 80s. We’re in the 2020s at this point. I’m going to be your assistant because I already know the medical history of the entire Batfamily, and I am familiar with all equipment. Martha, I’m going to need you to help the others when they come in. If Nightwing has been injured that likely means that Batman is also badly injured but won’t handle it until his children are cared for. You must help all of them as quickly as possible. God willing, I can come assess damage once Nightwing has been cared for. Do you both understand.”
“I do,” Thomas said.
“I do too,” Martha said.
“Thomas, head back to medical and started scrubbing in as fast as you can. Martha, you’ll wait with me.”
Thomas nodded once and headed back. He stripped off his shirt and quickly started to scrub himself clean and getting as much PPE on his body as he could manage.
In almost no time, the door burst open, and a powerful figure came striding into medical. Given the pointy ears, the cowl, the cape, the bat symbol on his chest, Thomas would guess this was Batman. In his arms was a younger, smaller man, who was bleeding sluggishly. Batman settled Nightwing onto a bed.
“Take care of him,” Batman snarled out before beginning to strip Nightwing out of the suit he was wearing.
Alfred went to scrub in as well. Thomas watched the absolute care and speed Batman used to strip Nightwing. Alfred wasn’t joking about these being his children.
Batman had Martha’s mouth.
Thomas didn’t think much beyond that. He had a surgery to preform and a life to save. He could panic later.
Martha saw when Batman arrived. His car, like something out of a movie, skidded to a stop and he jumped out. Alfred rushed over. Between the two of them, they got Nightwing out of the car and rushed to medical.
Three minutes after that, two motorcycles arrived in the cave. One bore Red Hood. Between his arms was a smaller young man who looked feverish. The other cycle, entirely red, held a young woman in purple holding a brown boy (an actual child) who was favoring his arms.
“Hood, report!” Batman snapped. He’d returned from medical, apparently.
“Somebody decided to not tell anyone that he got fucking injected with Scarecrow Toxin,” Hood shouted. “And someone else decided to not mention that her ribs were partially caved in. And someone else also got shot and didn’t tell anyone, old man!”
“You got shot!?” the young woman shouted.
“Medical, everyone!” Batman snapped.
The young man in Hood’s arms shivered all over.
“Nice, B, send the kid into a trauma coma.”
“Maybe that’s because you are the one holding Drake, Todd,” the child said. His eyes went to Martha. “Who are you?”
“Medical,” Batman snapped. His eyes flicked to Martha and then away.
Hood jogged over to medical, following Batman back into the room.
“Spoiler, Robin, what happened?” a voice called from behind her. She didn’t have to spin around before a black teenager was running past her, going to support the young woman.
“Red decided to not tell anyone he got injected with Fear Toxin,” Spoilers said. “This is after he got blasted with Joker Venom, but at least he had his mask on when that happened and also managed to punch the creep’s teeth in.”
“Fun,” the young man said. “Um, hey, are you Martha?”
“Yes,” she said. “My husband and Alfred have Nightwing in surgery.”
“Martha?” the young woman asked.
“Later,” Martha said. “Come on, you two need to get checked out.”
She helped steer the youngest and the young woman to medical. When there, Martha took over the boy’s care. He was apparently “Robin.” The young man who was so sick was apparently Red Robin, the woman in purple was Spoiler (“call me Steph”) and the young man was the Signal (“call me Duke, please ma’am”).
Martha wasn’t a registered nurse, but only because she didn’t have a license, not because she didn’t have the skills. Alfred and Thomas were both amazing when it came to healthcare, so Martha had learned too. It wasn’t too hard for her to set Robin’s break, especially because it was such a clean break. She got the X-rays done and the cast on in no time.
Duke had gotten Steph mostly handled. It turned out her ribs weren’t in as bad shape as they were afraid. Duke turned her over to Martha, running off when Hood started shouting.
“Is it always like this?” Martha asked.
“Not always, but it wasn’t a good night,” Steph said. “Don’t worry about Red too much. We have antidotes. He’s just got a fever and needed a decon showers. Batman’s probably the bigger problem because he’s so stubborn.”
“He makes quite a figure,” Martha noted.
“You can say that again,” Steph said. “So… Martha?”
“Martha Wayne,” she said.
“Like Bruce’s mom Martha Wayne?” Steph yipped.
“Grandmother?” Robin asked. He’d been so steadfast in keeping his mask on, but he pulled it off and approached her.
He had green, green eyes. “Oh god, you have my mother’s eyes,” Martha said.
“I do?” Robin asked.
“Yes, oh, and there’s Bruce’s nose, and my grandfather’s chin.” Martha couldn’t help but coo. “Robin, you’re Bruce’s boy, right?”
“Everyone else but me, Batman and Alfred are,” Steph said.
“I am the blood son,” Robin said proudly. “I am Damian Wayne al Ghul.”
Martha laughed, but it was with a soft joy. It was either laugh or cry. She chose to gather Damian into her arms and carefully hug him so she wouldn’t hurt his arm.
Bruce had so many children. She’d counted four adopted boys and one birth son. Alfred had said Bruce had adult children. She was grateful at least one of them was still young.
“How many children does Bruce have?” Martha asked, still holding Damian, but turning to look at Steph. Steph was staring at her weirdly.
“Uh, the only one of them you haven’t seen is Cass. She should be back soon,” Steph explained.
“Oh good,” Martha said. She gave Damian another hug before she unwound from him. Damian had been stiff and uncomfortable in her arms. “I’m sorry for hugging you, Damian. Bruce was always uncomfortable with sudden affection as well.”
“Was- he still is,” Steph said with a snort.
“For the love of God! Lay the fuck down!” Jason shouted, his voice cutting through their conversation.
Batman strode past, still in his suit. Duke was following after him, so was Jason, who’d ripped his mask off, but Steph jumped up and caught him.
“You know now’s really not a great time to pick a fight, Jason,” Steph said. Martha saw how she looked between Jason and Martha and then back.
“He’s so stubborn,” Jason complained.
“What else is new?” Steph asked. “Look, how about you keep grandma company while D and I go get showered and changed.
“Right,” Jason said. “Well, hurry it up.” He dropped back on one of the beds.
Steph and Damian did hurry out, leaving Martha with Jason.
“So, he’s always stubborn?” Martha asked.
“Always,” Jason said. “And he’s total shit at emotions, which yeah, yeah I get it, but fuck am I sick of it.”
“Does this maybe have to do with stress?” Martha suggested.
“Our whole lives are stress,” he said shortly, then he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you,” he mumbled.
“I could tell,” she said, choosing to sit down next to him. “I’m a little surprised that you live in Park Row.”
“Why?” Jason asked.
“I thought Bruce’s kids would live… well-”
“Not in Crime Alley,” Jason said. He chuckled, seeing her horrified expression. “Yeah, no one but government officials and old people call it Park Row. It’s Crime Alley. I was born and raised there until I was eleven and got adopted. When I came back to Gotham, I just set up shop in my old streets.”
“So, you can say that you’re Crime Alley’s protector?”
Jason’s smile was sharp. “That’s the idea, anyway. Also, the crime lord thing.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m guessing Alfred had some hand in raising you, and Thomas spent half his life wandering the inner-city streets. Batman’s way more shocking.”
Jason snorted. “God, that’s weird to think about.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. Batman’s been this like… bigger than life figure my whole life. He beats up bad guys and rescues kids and women and whoever needs help. Half the city thinks he’s a demon from hell and the other half thinks he’s secretly dating Bruce Wayne, which is hilarious.”
“Bruce… is he…” she trailed off.
“Just let him tell you, okay?” Jason asked. “Speaking of.” He nodded toward the door where Batman stood.
Martha stood and smoothed out her dress. She crossed the room toward Batman, and he crossed the room toward her.
She’d never been a short woman, but Batman was bigger than Thomas, bigger than both his father and her father. He was a huge man, powerful, dark and dangerous, and he had her blue eyes.
“Bruce,” she said.
He reached up and pulled off his cowl. And then there was her son, her husband, her grandparents, her father’s grandparents and every picture of every relative she’d ever seen. Her baby was in his 40s. He had at least five years on her, if not more. His hair was starting to gray at the temples. There were laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and deep frown lines forming near his mouth. His hair was even thicker than she remembered, and she bet if she pet it that it wouldn’t be nearly as soft as it had been only earlier than evening.
She started crying.
“Mother.” His voice had a natural depth and growl to it, even when he wasn’t snarling the way he did with the cowl on.
There were tears in his eyes too.
She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. He was just as stiff in her arms as Damian had been earlier. But a few seconds later he melted, just like her little boy. He wrapped his arms around her, completely engulfing her, hugging her nice and tight.
Her little boy’s hugs were so strong that she felt like she was being held by her grandfather again, the strongest man in her whole world.
Her son was older than her. She’d never gotten to see him grow up.
She sobbed, but Bruce did too. They held on tight to one another, like they were afraid to be ripped away from each other again.
“B,” Jason said, his voice tentative. Martha and Bruce broke away to look at him. He looked uncomfortable, like he was trying to make himself small. “You need to take a shower, and Martha probably wants to get into something more comfortable.”
“Right,” Bruce said. He dropped his arms from her body. It took everything in her not to whimper from the loss.
“Steph and I can help,” Duke offered. “Um, if you don’t mind, ma’am. Vigilante funk is no joke.”
Martha let out a watery laugh. “Alright, let’s let the stinky boys clean up.” She looked back to Bruce. “I’ll see you soon. Very soon.”
“Alright,” Bruce said. Martha knew that his eyes were on her, even as she walked out of medical to the changing room with the comfortable clothes they kept on hand. If they even had any of her old clothes anymore, they would stink like mothballs. Duke was right that she would much rather get comfortable.
Thomas and Alfred were still in surgery. Everyone was on edge because someone, Bruce’s son, was hurt. Her son had adult children. He put on a cape and fought crime. She didn’t know how to feel about all of it. But she did know something. She believed in the magical power of sweat clothes and comfortable socks. The whole world was easier to face when she was comfortable.